Translator: Cinder Translations
...
A bullet ended Gunther's charge.
The bullet struck his left arm, the one holding the shield.
Now he realized that even his metal shield could not withstand that wicked wand.
At the moment of impact, although he felt pain, it wasn't the excruciating agony he had anticipated.
He only sensed a tremendous force entering his body, as if he had been struck hard by a great hammer, followed by a wave of numbness.
However, after a few moments, a strong burning sensation radiated from his left arm, and the pain began to intensify sharply, akin to being stung repeatedly by wasps, seemingly without end.
Gunther gritted his teeth against the agony, trying to lift his arm, but it felt as if it had detached from his body, rendering him powerless.
His shield had already fallen to the ground, and with a clang, he lost his balance and tumbled down the slope.
"Lord Gunther!"
The remaining orcs, seeing their leader injured, could no longer focus on dealing with the humans and rushed over to help Gunther.
Matthew, holding his firearm, breathed in deeply despite the choking smoke.
He could tell he had struck a significant target, and he felt incredibly lucky.
He couldn't help but kiss the firearm in his hands. Indeed, the firing rate of the flintlock was stable; if they had brought matchlocks, the dreadful misfire rate would have driven him mad! No, he might not even have gone mad before being hacked to death by the orcs.
He also had to thank the good weather today; it hadn't rained.
The pressure on the human position lightened as a few orcs broke through numerous obstacles and leaped into the trench (let's call it that for now), only to be killed by the exploring team members who had the numerical advantage, armed with swords and knives.
Orcs were indeed formidable; even in their dying struggles, they inflicted injuries on many, their fierce gazes shooting forth even as they closed their eyes for the last time.
Meanwhile, the orcs below the slope, having given up the attack, dragged their wounded companions away in fury, disappearing into the dense forest from which they had come.
"We've won! We've won!"
"We actually defeated the orcs!"
Cheers erupted within the "trench."
These orcs, once described in exaggerated terms by humans, were mere monsters used by grandmothers in the Northwest Bay to scare their unruly grandchildren into sleeping, had now been defeated by their hands.
The team members stepped out of the shallow depression to check the bodies of the slain orcs. Their guide, the dwarf Imar, eagerly came to help; if he found any with faint breath, he decisively struck them down to end their suffering.
They found a total of 18 orc corpses: 10 wore only animal skins, 6 were clad in bone armor, and only 2 wore chainmail and scale armor.
"Their iron smelting technology isn't great? So metal is quite precious in orc tribes."
Imar explained.
"Of course, even if they all wore metal armor, it probably wouldn't matter in front of your wands."
At this point, the dwarf had completely extinguished any thoughts of plundering human wealth.
Now he was focused on how to lead the humans down a different secret route; the current path was a dead end. Sigh, what excuse should he come up with?
How about sneaking away while they were asleep? No, he still had a bag of silver coins waiting for him.
That foolish Gunther, underestimating the situation, had already cost him a significant fortune; he couldn't afford to lose that bag of silver coins as well.
As the exploring team members cleaned the battlefield and treated their wounds, the sun gradually sank behind the mountains, and night quietly descended.
People set up tents and lit bonfires. Unfortunately, they had lost three of their reindeer during the battle.
The dwarf Imar drew a route on the ground with a branch in front of Stanford.
"Humans, I think we should take another route."
Stanford asked, "Why?"
"I'm afraid that if we continue along this line, we might encounter other orcs lying in ambush. These damned savages have intruded into our sacred territory, and the mountains are no longer safe."
After the battle during the day, the dwarf's tone had softened considerably.
"You mean the orcs in the forest have begun invading Rocky Mountain?"
"It's entirely possible, but I don't know if it's a large-scale invasion or a small-scale raid."
"Then other routes might not be safe either; orcs could pop up."
"But it's still better than this road, which has already shown a chance of orcs appearing."
Stanford stroked his chin, "Let me think about it."
He felt there was something strange about today's ambush.
At that moment, he heard someone shouting and looked up, feeling a chill run down his spine.
Flickering lights appeared in the distance, growing more numerous and closer.
"Are they orcs? Their main force is coming. We should move early."
Stanford regretted having forgotten about this.
"Wait! That's…" Imar shouted.
"That's not orcs! It's dwarves, from the Hammer Clan. Humans, listen closely…"
Imar's eyes darted, and he came up with an idea. He hurriedly told Stanford, "If you want to pass the mountain safely, you need to explain to them according to my instructions."
"Just say I—a dwarf—was chased by orcs, and you rescued me when you passed by. Then you ask for…"
"Can that really pass muster?"
"Hey, the eighteen corpses over there are proof, aren't they?"
Stanford scratched his head, "Alright, I'll say that. But won't your kin attack us as soon as they arrive?"
Imar patted his chest, "Don't worry; you're just on the outskirts; you haven't truly entered Rocky Mountain yet. We dwarves are not a bloodthirsty race… for the most part."
...
"Imar! You bastard!"
The leading dwarf recognized Imar, and Stanford also recognized him as the dwarf who first refused him in the Blood Ox tribe.
"Oh! My dear brother, I almost got torn apart by dozens of orc brutes. How did you find your way here?"
Barash said sternly, "This afternoon, the patroller heard the roars of orcs and strange sounds nearby. So, indeed, orcs came here?"
"Yes! A large group!" Imar exaggeratedly waved his arms.
"Countless orcs emerged from the dense forest like a tide. Fortunately, my axe is no toy, and these passing humans helped a bit."
"Then how did you end up here? This path…"
Imar quickly covered Barash's mouth, glancing at Stanford to ensure there was nothing suspicious, then whispered in Barash's ear, "I can't just lead them onto the correct path, can I? I'm a hero of the Hammer Clan, and I expect a few barrels of fine wine as a reward when I return."
Barash ignored Imar's self-praise and turned to Stanford.
"Human, why are you here?"
"Uh…"
"Crossing Rocky Mountain, right? I remember you were searching for a guide all over the place in the Blood Cow tribe."
"I admit it."
Barash did not continue to interrogate but inspected the bodies of the orcs. It was clear that a fierce battle had taken place here.
Stanford said from the side, "I hope you can guide us on our way back home."
The dwarf hesitated for a moment and said, "Alright! After all, you saved one of our kin; he's still my relative. But I still need to get the clan leader's approval."
Stanford felt a surge of joy; there was hope.
(End of the Chapter)
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